


enemy of my enemy

by jaspell



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Nott | Veth Brenatto-centric, Pre-Campaign, alcoholic bonding, featuring fantasy racism, grossness in every sense of the word, hand holding, hangovers, lawful evil caleb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24511324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaspell/pseuds/jaspell
Summary: Caleb dreams there is a goblin in the room.
Relationships: Nott & Caleb Widogast, Nott | Veth Brenatto & Caleb Widogast, Nott | Veth Brenatto/Caleb Widogast, Nott/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 42
Kudos: 185





	1. "you told me it was cherry wine"

**Author's Note:**

> this started off as the 'pre-stream' prompt from widobrave week but I have now written 10k+ words of pure nonsense. enjoy!
> 
> additional content warnings in the notes for each chapter

She doesn’t fight when they put her in the cell. She fought when they took her things - first pleaded, then thrashed and clawed and cursed at them in goblin - but there’s no point in keeping it up. She slumps onto the floor, a few tears of frustration escaping her eyes. When most of the immediate woe is out of her system she stands and looks up at the bars pathetically, sniffing.

And it’s all for fucking cherry wine.

Her ears perk up and swivel towards the sound of shallow breathing, coming not from the hallway but -

Nott twists in place, her eyes locking onto a figure laying in the corner less than ten feet away. A single eye is looking over his shoulder at her, the rest swaddled in a dark coat. He’s stopped breathing.

So has she.

She lowers into a crouch and stares, her heart pounding. When her hands reach the floor, she hears the man whisper something unintelligible. She freezes and so does he. She waits for him to speak again but he doesn’t, so she moves with deliberate slowness to the wall, never breaking eye contact, and sits down and hunches in on herself.

Nott wonders if the guards made a mistake, the other cells in the tiny jail didn’t look occupied. Would they move her if she asked? No, of course not. From here, it’s easier to see the man’s profile, his large nose and pale skin streaked with mud dust. He turns away.

Caleb dreams there is a goblin in the room.

He wakes early and in the light from the window he can see his cell-mate more clearly.

He’s never _met_ a goblin before. For at least a year or two when he was a boy, after he stopped believing in fairytales but before he saw much of the world, he thought they were made up. That feels foolish now. The few individuals he’s seen in the last couple of years he’s kept his distance from: all he knows, and up until now all he _needs_ to know, is they’re dangerous if you’re travelling alone. 

This one is bundled up in rags and a tattered cloak, the hood pulled over its head. Its face is so unfamiliar it’s hard to read - made up of all different pieces than a human’s - but even in sleep he thinks it looks puffy-eyed and unhappy. Still, the teeth protruding from its mouth look vicious and he has a powerful instinct to hide.

He goes through his meagre equivalent of a morning routine, flicking through the pages of his spellbook while watching the sleeping goblin out of the corner of his eye and mulling over what he’ll do when it wakes. It didn’t seem any happier than him to have company last night, but wasn’t violent either. He heard it pleading with those guards, so it can speak common, at least. Better try to get on its good side early.

When Nott comes to, her head is splitting with a headache and her senses are assaulted by bright light and sound and the smell of damp. Sobriety is nauseating, is her first lucid thought. How the hell did she do this for most of her life?

Her mouth tastes as bad as the air around her. She cracks her neck and twists her back both ways before looking over to the human man, who’s staring at her uncertainly.

Caleb tries to make his voice sound smooth and confident, though it comes out quiet. “Forgive me, do you speak common?”

She nods.

“Whats your name?”

“I’m Nott,” she says after a slight pause, her voice high and strained.

He nods his head. “My name is Caleb Widogast. Good to meet you.”

She does the same and avoids his eyes, reeling from the shock of being addressed so politely.

“Are you in here long, do you know?”

Nott shakes her head a bit. “I don’t- I was - I was drunk last night,” she says. “you?”

“Ah… a month or so, I suppose.”

There’s silence for a long time.

“Do they give you food?”

“Ja, most days.”

She doesn’t ask when, though hunger is creeping up on her in a sickly and unhopeful kind of way. What she needs most is a drink.

For about half of the first day she thinks the man looks upset about something, before she realises the expression of worry and intensity is his resting face. He looks a frightful state really, face gaunt with deep shadows around his eyes and no colour to his skin. But he’s not _grumpy_. His voice is gentle, and his words are never cold towards her. He averts his eyes when she needs privacy; never looks too suspicious; briefly smiles at her on the rare occasions they exchange words, but not a pitying smile or one looking for credit, he just smiles and looks away as if she’s a regular person.

Her thieves’ tools would come in handy, sure, but what about when she has to sneak past the guards? There’s no chance she can outrun them, especially not their crossbows. She searches the cell for weaknesses in the walls, climbs up to the barred window and peers out at the street.

Caleb Widogast watches her. When she asks him if he’s looked for a way out, he shakes his head and deflects uncomfortably. In a twisted way, it makes sense. He doesn’t look like he’d do a great job of staying alive out there anyway.

She swears she can smell his fear. It’s a new, commanding sense, and once she notices it - something on his breath, or in his blood, she thinks - she’s attuned to it. Can’t ignore it. The stink of the cell fades day by day as her nose adjusts, but fear clings to him, only growing more potent. Once as she’s waking up, she thinks there’s something else to his smell too, something like static. Smoke or sparks. It should be familiar to her. By the time she’s fully awake, it escapes her as dream-nonsense.

The man leans his head back against the wall and looks to the window. His nose is well-shaped, his jawline strong and sharp. He tilts his head so that a bar of moonlight hits his eye, bright blue and silver.

Nott feels chills rise up on her arms.

As the days go on she gets twitchy. It’s hard to sleep at all without booze. Or her pack. In the months after escaping the clan she’d started collecting anything she could find: rings, jewellery, buttons (she’s only found three of those so far), gold and silver pieces, walking canes, toys, and every one was precious. She used to go through and count everything, memorise every last detail. Stealing is a thrill on its own, but it’s the items themselves that she loves the most. It gives her a purpose. A reason not to think. Now there’s nothing to do at night but pick at her skin without looking at it.

She takes to translating words and phrases in her head, testing her memory. From common to halfling, common to goblin, goblin back to halfling again. She remembers much more than she thought she would, and doesn’t know how to feel about it.

Caleb flinches in his sleep and groans. Her eyes lock onto him.

He twitches again, then wakes up with a gasp and looks around the cell as if he’s searching for something. It must be pitch black for a human: it’s a moonless night and clouded over, so surely he can’t see a thing. Nott pulls her hood down a little further just in case. Big and unseeing, his pupils move about uncertainly, eventually settling just to her left and staying there. She keeps very still.

It strikes her again how vulnerable his expression is. Below the dirt and shaggy beard it makes him look young - older than her, but not by much. She doesn’t remember how human aging works, they’re shorter lived than she’s used to. He just looks so… scared. If it wasn’t nighttime, she might think he was deliberately overdoing it.

Caleb’s face distorts, he clenches his eyes shut and starts to cry almost silently. Nott can’t drag her eyes away. Her heart feels like a string has been tied around it and it’s being pulled to the centre of the planet.

Some instinct within her has been dormant for too long, a craving for touch. Good touch. Not the erratic bullying of the goblins, not the brush of a hand snatched away in horror and not the shoving force of the guards. She wants to hold and be held. Until now, she’s done an all right job of pushing it all down, but now it comes on too strongly for this stranger: the urge to soothe, cradle, put a hand on his shoulder, anything.

Nott gets to her feet and edges along the wall, one of her hands tracing it as if she can’t see perfectly well, a force of habit. Careful to make no sound, she lowers herself down a few feet away from him, close as she dares, and curls up and watches until his sniffling fades altogether.

“I’ve never met a wizard before,”

“I am… out of practice,”

It doesn’t look like it. She reaches out to touch the glowing light: it feels like nothing’s there, but when her hand collides with it two more spheres emerge and orbit the first.

“Can you make more?”

“This spell can make four,”

She looks entranced. Her eyes are so big and shiny that Caleb can see the points of light dancing in their reflections. When the conversation moves on, he sends the orbs upwards to circle slowly above their heads.

“I have another question,”

His face twitches, almost managing to look amused. “Go ahead,”

“What’s in that flask?”

He’s thrown off, expecting to have to lie, and looks down at his belt. “Oh, this is empty,” He lifts the small shiny thing and shakes it. Noticing how the goblin’s eyes follow it greedily, he says, without thinking “you want to have it?”

Her mouth falls open in shock, and he’s immediately embarrassed. He feels manipulative: what kind of a gift is that? For a goblin? A goblin in a jail cell he met four days ago? Even if he doesn’t care for the flask, why did he offer it? So she’d owe him?

“I never use it anyway. Here,” He stretches out his arm. She hesitates, before snatching the flask and holding it to her chest. Her small frame makes it look bigger than it is.

“That’s very nice,” She says, her eyes wide like saucers.

He looks sheepish, avoiding her intense gaze. “Well, when they let you out, gift to remember me by,” he says flatly.

She looks down at it, accidentally sees her face reflected and distorted in the metal, and turns it side-on hastily. She takes some dirt from the floor and brushes her hand across the surface, smudging it around until it’s dirtied enough not to act as a mirror. “Mister Widogast, how long have you been in here?” She says as she works.

He’s watching her little ritual curiously. He’s taken aback by the use of his fake name, and mumbles. “Three months,”

They talk intermittently into the evening. She tells him what the guards took from her, how she liked to sort through her pack. Asks if he collects things. _Eh… not so much. Books, if anything. I’m a big reader._ He watches her and sees a thief, a pickpocket, and a good one at that. He makes a mental note to set the alarm around himself in case she tries anything.

Their exchange is cut off by the heavy scrape of a door - Caleb drops his spell - a guard pauses before peering through the window to their cell uneasily, no doubt investigating the light.

She leaves, and they talk quieter in the darkness. He tells her more about his magic, how it lets him change things from one to another, and Nott hears _alchemy_.

“You want to see a trick?”

“Of course,”

The man clicks his fingers and Nott jumps.

“This is my cat,”

“Is it a magic cat?”

“Ja, he is, his name is Frumpkin,” he scratches the cat’s ears: for the first time Nott thinks he looks proud, almost smug.

Frumpkin walks over, Nott holds out her hand in a loose fist, and the cat sniffs it tentatively before bumping his head against it. The fur isn’t an illusion - it’s really there, soft and tactile. Odd, too, because the only animals she’s touched for months have been ones she’s about to eat. Frumpkin seems to sense that; his ears swivel back suspiciously.

She hears footsteps in the corridor and skitters to the wall: the guard delivers their food and leaves again without a word.

Nott turns back to the cat, but he’s gone; she glances around in bewilderment. Caleb’s still watching the bars warily.

Nott hesitates, feeling stupid before asking “wh… where’s the cat gone?”

“I can make him disappear but he’s always with me.”

“Oh, is - is he invisible?”

“Not exactly. He’s somewhere else and then I can bring him back.” He clicks his fingers again to demonstrate, and the cat reappears on his shoulder, rubbing up against his face.

She stares, wide-eyed. “Could you… can he get through the bars?”

Caleb glances at the cell door. “Ja, probably.”

He feels her eyes on him and adds: “He can’t exactly break out of here any better than you or I can, Nott.”

She feels a little kick at that, nods.

She presses him on his special kind of magic, the alchemy that he calls transmutation. She watches a copper piece turn to a silver, right before her eyes, and she thinks _this is who can help me._

“Your cat might not be able to, but I can pick locks,”

Watches him summon a flame to his hand with his back pressed to the wall, waiting for her signal.

She thinks _this is who I can protect_.


	2. foolish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Be careful.” She hisses and tugs his sleeve into the safe shadows. He clumsily reaches for her hand - theirs are both wrapped in bandages - she takes it and leads him forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for body dysphoria. this chapter is more of a montage than the others, I've tried my best not to make it too crunchy to read. do leave a comment if you're enjoying so far <3

The jail goes up like a torch.

Nott coughs her way out of the smoke, eyes stinging, gasping in the taste of clean, cold open air. She feels light with adrenaline. She searches around wildly for cover and darts to a stone wall under a tree, tracking Caleb’s footsteps behind her. Once they’ve stopped she realises there’s barely a need to hide; they couldn’t be more invisible next to the blazing building. It’s casting a deep orange glow on the dirt road at the edge of town, like a sunset.

She squints back at it, and her face is hit by roaring heat even this far back. It’s lucky the place isn’t connected to any other buildings. More people are beginning to shout, and somebody starts ringing a bell.

Caleb is swaying in place, staring at the fire with one hand gripping a stone on top of the wall like it’s an anchor. He’s breathing quickly through his nose.

He turns around to slide down against the wall close beside Nott.

And then they’re traveling together, and neither one says anything about it. It just is.

They sleep huddled for warmth on the side of the road. It’s not awkward. It’s midwinter. It’s too cold to be awkward. Nott lies curled up at his feet or his lower back or against his thigh. She folds herself inwards, her hands in fists so her sharp nails don’t touch him, gratefully burrows into his heat, and is relieved every time he doesn’t flinch away.

Caleb - doesn’t know. He isn’t a teenager anymore. The sensation of a body next to him that’s not Frumpkin for the first time in years - in more than a decade. A body that’s warm, her feet fidgeting, her chest rising and falling, the air whistling through her nose. He wakes in the frost with his arm draped over her shoulder. Doesn’t know.

Four days in: “Mister uh, Mister Widogast, are you sure you’re all right with this plan?” 

“Quite sure.” It’s a few more paces before he adds awkwardly “and Caleb is fine, I am not all that formal,”

“All right.”

Later, she says “Thank you, Mister Caleb,” and he can’t bring himself to correct her.

It’s almost more difficult than traveling alone. Nicer, that’s for sure (less lonely, less hungry), but when Nott was alone she didn’t have the responsibility of looking after a human three times her size and constantly somber. She can tell his state goes far beyond a few months of malnutrition and poor sleep, but she’s pretty sure asking would do more harm than good. He needs rest often. His frown rarely lifts, so over the weeks and months she learns to read happiness on his face in other ways. It passes over his expression quick and bright when Nott shows him a piece of jewellery she stole, or points out flowers blooming out of a snowbank.

Some days she’s the only one who talks, while he moves along with fog in his eyes, only just present enough to eat or drink. Other days are spent scheming; they wait in the shadows and exchange knowledge on how to con people, on the foods that are safe to scavenge, on magic tricks. She notices a coded message scratched onto a farm gate. Those mushrooms are poisonous. The woman in the fancy cloak saw me watching her: we should move on. See over there, in the corner, one of the men gambling is cheating and he’s got his partner too drunk to notice.

“Think of what we could get with that much gold,” she whispers.

“Ja, but the other guy’s so far gone, look, he’s easier,”

“But we could get you books,”

He twitches his nose and Nott can’t help a smile. She peeks over as the winner slams down a card and laughs triumphantly, earning a couple of annoyed looks from around the tavern. None of their cons would work here.

“That bow of yours,” Caleb continues, barely breathing the words while he swills the drink in his tankard.

She starts. They’re not exactly above it, but they’ve never straight-up attacked somebody before. Not her, not unprovoked. “You don’t mean t-”

“Just to knock him out,” he says hastily.

“Sure,” she looks at the table. “You think when he leaves and - you think we could pull it off?”

“Did you want to stay in this town any longer?”

“No.”

He sits back on his stool to consider, then gives her a sly grin and a wink. “Then I suppose we’ll have to see.”

Both of them are bothered by nightmares. It’s like that first time Nott slept close to him in the cell, only now they keep waking each other up by accident, and like so many other things there’s no room for embarrassment. Caleb shouts himself awake once or twice, fragments of words in Zemnian that she can’t understand. She never asks. To calm the others’ nerves they murmur reassurances and talk about nothing.

Nott wakes leaning on Caleb’s leg, disorientated. She props herself up, unbalanced, swears she can still feel the heavy water rolling and dragging her downwards - her hand finds his tunic and clings to it automatically, and he makes a noise of surprise.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks, pulling away.

He doesn’t answer, just shifts over and sleepily reaches to pet her hair. She crawls up to his chest and his arm follows to wrap around her scrawny body, offering his other arm as a pillow. The night is still and silent and he drifts off again with ease.

Nott yanks on his coat, pulling him back from the path of the horse and cart clattering past. His face is blank with confusion.

“Be careful.” She hisses and tugs his sleeve into the safe shadows. He clumsily reaches for her hand - theirs are both wrapped in bandages - she takes it and leads him forward. Again, sees the boy who needs taking care of.

As much as she wishes otherwise, there are things every day that remind her of Yeza, of Felderwin. Sometimes it’s as simple as someone speaking halfling, a woman adjusting her glasses, or someone else’s fluffy brown hair. Sometimes it’s Caleb. She doesn’t know how the fuck she’s meant to feel about that. And Luc, too. Thoughts of Luc are _everywhere_. Luc who was so sick and was screaming for her when she told Yeza to run. Her arms ache to hold him. Every night she’s sober enough to remember she prays that he’s safe, that he and Yeza are together and that they never have to see another goblin in their whole lives.

The frost melts and seeps deep into the earth, giving way to more rain.

When they do manage to get booze, legal or otherwise, Nott drinks herself silly. Caleb carries her on his back when she passes out the first time, draped over his shoulder snoring and occasionally slurring nonsense.

“Th…anks, Mistercaleb,”

“Oh shush.”

“We’re going to… like a… treehouse,”

He passes a pair of crownsguard on the moonlit street, who take no notice of him.

That’s when the piggybacks start. He grows accustomed to her climbing his coat when she needs to whisper something. If there’s no one around, she’ll skitter up to his shoulders to get a vantage point over the fields, and often just stay, untangling or gingerly running her fingers through his filthy hair. Her weight there is somewhat comforting.

Eight weeks.  He comes back from cleaning his shirt in the river. After wringing it out, he gathers a few twigs and lights them over the ashes of last night’s fire so that it can dry.

Nott’s sitting on the other side clutching her flask, her face a deeper green than usual and her eyes oddly taut. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but she looks like a wreck.

“You good?”

She jerks her chin in an almost-nod, and there’s a few seconds of silence before she answers hoarsely: “Time of the month.”

“Oh,” he says.

She’s quiet for most of the day. At noon as they’re wondering a busy highstreet she takes his hand again. It makes no sense at the time, but he feels his cheeks get warm.

They find farmers’ markets are the perfect terrain for stealing. Half starved, they keep focus despite the overwhelming scents of fresh meat and cheese and bread. They weave through the crowd, Caleb ‘accidentally’ brushing against shoulders while Nott picks pockets or snatches rings off fingers, practically invisible. She doesn’t like asking for spare coin on the street, it draws too much attention, though some of their go-to’s do involve pity money. It’s hit or miss, and about a quarter of their cons end with them making a run for it, but they get better each time.

The first night they can afford in a tavern, Caleb can’t sit still. He draws the curtains, takes great care looping the silver thread around the room, scratches his arms feverishly. She sleeps on the floor.

For the most part she doesn’t think about her crush - those first few days when she’d been shy of him for all the wrong reasons - there are much more pressing things to pay attention to now, like keeping them both alive.

But the problem is, there’s a lot of time left in the day to not think about it.

She wonders if she should feel guilty, but ‘should’ doesn’t count for much anymore. None of this should have happened. Veth shouldn’t have been forced into this monstrous body in the first place. Nott - whoever she is now - isn’t even meant to exist. What does it matter what she should or shouldn’t do with a body that isn’t hers? So she sets the guilt aside. And tries only feebly not to think about Caleb cupping the side of her neck, or his fingers tracing lines down her back, or his adam’s apple bobbing or the way his hips might move. Their touches are so easy and casual it’s hard to imagine - well, no, it isn’t. He’s been half-naked around her plenty, it’s not a big deal. She’s seen his dick. She doesn’t _look,_ it’s just that she takes a lot more care not to be seen than he does.

(All her daydreams are tinged with something dissonant, a feeling she doesn’t want to look at directly. There are the more monstrous parts of her goblin body she’d rather not be reminded of; the thought of her jagged mess of a mouth anywhere near his, for instance, makes her recoil in disgust. Maybe if she was Veth- but that’s wrong too.)

She starts collecting again. It’s all a very good distraction.

Two months, and five days.  They’ve been walking since an hour after sunrise. Haven’t spoken much. After sharing the last of a pastry in the morning, Caleb manages to flag down a passing stagecoach and they sit squeezed into the corner while three upper-class looking women make hushed conversation on the other side, two human and one who looks elvish, occasionally shooting suspicious glances at them. Nott keeps her head down the whole time. As subtle as he can, Caleb angles himself protectively between them and her, pretending to look intently at the passing fields. He moves his hand to rest at Nott’s back; her stomach feels giddy, and it takes a moment or two for her to relax and lean into his side a bit.

The coachman tells him they’re going North at a fork in the road, the wrong way for where they’re headed, so he thanks him and they get off.

All afternoon the clouds grow thicker and more menacing, and at sunset it begins to rain.

Nott holds her arms around her body. One ear catches a raindrop and shakes it off like a cat: she reaches into her hood and pulls her ears inside it one at a time to keep them dry. Caleb says nothing but finds that exceptionally endearing. He doesn’t have a hood, she notices - his scarf is already doubled and tripled up as much as it can be. Nott watches Frumpkin look up at Caleb with a sad _mrrrwww_ ; Caleb scratches his head, says a few words in Zemnian that sound distinctively babyish, then clicks his fingers and Frumpkin vanishes.

“He doesn’t like the rain?”

Caleb makes a small sound that seems to say ‘of course’. “He’s a cat,” 

“But he kind of does what you say, right?”

“I suppose. It is fuzzy, I could keep him here but that seems pretty cruel,”

At 11pm the rain is still steady, the visibility so low that they have no idea how close or far the nearest village is. They come across a copse of trees at the divide between two muddy fields. One thick trunk leaning away from the road’s edge looks as promising as it’s going to get.

Caleb’s eyes keep darting around as if he’s lost. As the rain gets stronger, he fumbles with his roll of thread and starts making a circle around the tree and hollow below it. Nott excuses herself, and when she gets back he’s still at it. She wants to snap at him to get out of the rain.

Even having chosen the sheltered side of the tree, it’s not dry; the wind keeps changing and large drops fall occasionally from the branches above. Nott clambers up a root to get away from the sodden ground, almost slipping, and finds a half-decent nook to lean into. She shuts her eyes straight away. When Caleb settles he lays on his side against the trunk, listening to the watery roar of the branches, and tucks his knees up under his coat. He summons Frumpkin, who eagerly snuggles against his legs.

His hair is soaked. As far as places to sleep go, this isn’t anywhere near the top of the list.

He finds his eyes resting idly on Nott’s back. It’s too dark to see clearly, but she’s facing away from him, and every exhale is accompanied by a little shudder. God, she’s so small.

He remembers how warm her hand had been.

Another minute of frowning and shivering as the cold seeps deeper through his skin.

“Diese ist töricht,” he grumbles to himself, then louder “Nott.”

One of her ears perks up. When she looks over, Caleb lifts the side of his coat and gives a beckoning nod. Her face brightens, and without a second thought she scuttles over, shrugging off her drenched outer cloak, and huddles right up to his torso. As her cold limbs press against him he hisses in through his teeth, determined not to complain, and closes the wool-lined edges of the coat behind her.

Not a drop of rain has made its way in here. She can hear the cat purring behind his knees. Her fingers and toes - which had long since gone numb - gain back feeling and start to ache as she flexes them, tucks her hands under her armpits. It’s always a bit of a compromise: so close up, Caleb’s smell is powerful. His body odour has dried into his shirt after the days of walking, stale and dank and awful. But it’s been long enough now that she barely even notices.

She feels him fidget and pull his legs up a bit, and she nestles closer. Silently, she thrills at the close sound of his breath.

Caleb buries his head down into his lapels.

His hands are rarely still. They even move in his sleep.

When he summons lights he bends his left index finger and traces a circle with his fingertips, so casual and quick it would be easy to miss if you weren’t watching for it. There’s a verbal component too. Detecting magic takes a longer, whispered phrase, and the words almost rhyme. He puts his right two fingers on his left palm and slowly pulls them away with his elbow out to the side, as if stretching a band of elastic or a harp string.

She can’t shake the thought that he could do with a good loosening up. The guy’s so _uptight_ , he can’t have had sex in years. Offering herself is unthinkable, but it’s not as if any person they meet wouldn’t take him, human or otherwise. There are times Nott thinks it’s because she’s there, that she’s holding him back, but he seems frustratingly oblivious when anybody tries to flirt. Even when they overhear talk of a brothel and Nott almost, _almost_ nudges him.

She watches strands of hair fall in front of his face. His hands on his book. Tries not to think about one of those hands cupping her ear and his lips parting and brushing against it as he leans close to murmur something. His eyes lingering on her mouth, his expression the opposite of disgust. Doesn’t think. Just watches.


	3. arschlöcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb tries to ignore her reactions as he blots and squeezes water onto the broken skin, pinching the fabric between his fingers delicately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for vomiting and mention of animal death

It’s barely large enough to be called a village, which suits them just fine: an inn, butcher’s, couple of shops and several cottages following the curve of a single dirt road. It’s a farming community, like everywhere else within a hundred miles. A wide stream runs northwards on the south-eastern edge, at the bottom of a shallow valley, and this is the direction they approach from. Nott walks slightly behind Caleb with her arms folded across her chest, hands hidden and face pointed at the floor under her hood, hoping it makes her look like no more than a stubborn child. She thinks his steps are making too much noise on the bridge - even if he is disguised, shouldn’t they try to draw less attention? Her feet barely make any sound at all.

(nearly four months, now)

The illusion spell gives Caleb a round face and short curly hair, and for the time being his coat looks spotless, his scarf a brighter yellow instead of brown. Frumpkin sits lazily in his arms. He barters with the grocer while Nott nabs the first thing she can reach. She prefers meat, but Caleb doesn’t have nearly enough coin for the butcher’s. They’ll eat well for at a day or two, at least.

From what little she can see and hear, it’s much like a tiny version of Felderwin. She hears voices speaking common and halfling interspersed, somebody gossiping: “-and _her_ husband went and fancied himself a courier and now all he does is ride from here to Zadash and back, so ain’t that convenient…” someone else “no, definitely couldn’t have been-” “every one of them!” “I just told her there’s nothing we can do about it, you know, only so much we can do…” “G’day sir,”

“Ah, hello,” Caleb’s voice replies. Nott can picture him putting on a shy smile.

“Afraid we can’t let animals in here, hygiene reasons.”

“Oh, of course I understand,” He takes Frumpkin and places him on the ground, to the cat’s disgruntlement. “You stay here, ok? He’ll stay, he’s very good,” he adds when the man looks doubtful.

The door has a chime, and the morning sun illuminates the small room through paned windows. “This is a nice place,” He says earnestly as the shopkeep goes to the counter.

“Thank you sir, you looking for anything in particular?”

“Ah… not yet, I need to have a browse but, may I call you if I need something?”

“Course, course, I’ll be in the back.”

Caleb turns to the shelf of second-hand books. Nott watches the man’s feet pace away, and after a few seconds Caleb scuffs his foot backwards, signalling the coast to be clear. They have a decent enough code - ever-evolving, formed from having little to talk about on the road for days on end. Nott looks up to take it all in: a humble arrangement of household items, books and knick-knacks. By the counter there’s a stand of jewellery. She moves over silently.

The prices range from a silver to a gold - rich, she thinks wryly. Half of it appears to have been made by a child. The things that most catch her eye are a set of dangly earrings, each embedded with a semi-precious stone, a long string of turquoise and dark red beads, and two little baskets at the bottom, one half-full with metal rings, the other empty except for a crudely made bracelet of the same uneven beads as the necklace. Near the top of the stand, she spots what looks like a pocket watch on a golden chain. Her pupils widen.

Nott hears the shopkeep coming back, darts to Caleb’s side and tugs once on his coat, the signal for ‘distraction’.

“Excuse me I was wondering about a couple of these books, do you perhaps have…” He continues as the man joins him. Nott side-steps and backs towards the jewellery stand.

From outside comes a clatter of wood, two dogs begin barking and somebody shouts. Both Caleb and the shopkeep jump and look to the sound. “What is…” Caleb goes over to the window and the man follows.

Deftly, Nott lifts the long necklace off its peg and plucks a couple of the rings from the first basket. She has to stretch her arm high for the pocketwatch, but it too disappears into her cloak. She’s back to Caleb’s side before the other man has stuck his head out the door. He dodges out of the way as Frumpkin appears there, hissing, skids towards Caleb and jumps up into his arms. Caleb stumbles a little.

“Hey, woah hey hey we can’t have animals in the-”

“Ah, I apologise, I’ll take him out,” he fumbles with one arm as the cat growls, and he pats Nott on the back. “Come along, I will be back later,”

Nott scuttles along with her head down, and squeaks a “thank you”.

They move away from the buildings as briskly as they can without arousing suspicion. It went a little too well. The shopkeeper will notice what’s missing soon enough. They briefly discuss the money pot, but Nott insists they shouldn’t push their luck.

They pass the last house. A small stone whistles past them, skidding and bouncing across the path ahead. Caleb blinks at it and keeps walking, until another does the same with more force and he hears Nott hiss. He turns to see a group of children about fifteen feet away, each holding rocks in their hands. Before he can react, one of them throws and hits Nott square in the face; she yelps loudly, stumbling sideways. Caleb lurches to put himself between them as two more come flying.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He snaps.

“The goblin mister - it was following you!” Says a human boy.

“He’s gonna pick your pockets,” Says another. There are two humans and three halflings. The one with short black hair raises his arm to throw again, taking aim.

Caleb feels his hands shaking and rage boils up in his throat. “Go home!” He roars, and snatches a jagged rock from the ground. “She’s my friend, you will leave her be - I said GO HOME!” He lifts the rock threateningly.

At this, the children shriek and scatter, one shouting for his mother, one darting behind a wooden sign and looking back at them, dumbfounded. Caleb stands there shaking for half a second. The stone falls from his hand. Others are craning their necks to see the source of the commotion.

He drops into a crouch, hands fluttering around Nott, who’s only just getting to her feet. Her eyes are still wheeling. “Hey, hey, hey…” He helps her balance as she drifts to one side. Her hands are covering half her face - the visible half flushed dark green and streaked with tears, but she’s not crying, just stunned. “It’s ok,” she manages, and he sees one of her teeth is stained with blood.

Behind him he hears a shout, and whispers “ _Mist_.” Doesn’t chance a look over his shoulder, just scoops her up and starts running. 

Once they hit the tree line he’s out of breath and slows to a walk, sparing a few glances back down the hill to check they’re not being followed. He keeps going, finding a sheltered spot under some pines. Nott doesn’t say a word, face half buried against him, and her silence makes him jittery with worry. He puts her down as gently as he can on the pine needles and kneels in front of her. “Let me see- let me see!”

Nott adjusts herself, hunched with one hand lightly hovering over the side of her stomach. The objective part of him is surprised by his concern, but she’s so tiny and frail and that awful sound that she made-

She reluctantly peels back the fabric of her hood, trying not to wince. There’s a sickening graze between her cheek and jaw, beading fresh blood, and underneath, the beginnings of a large bruise blooming. More blood at the edge of her mouth. He doesn’t need to ask if it hurts.

“Fucking scum they are,” he curses under his breath and rummages in his coat, pulling out a couple of rags and his waterskin. He bundles one up and tips the water onto it a couple of times to soak it. “Is there - anywhere else?”

“Just here,” She indicates her side, her voice coming out a bit choked. She swallows and licks her lip.

“Your mouth is bleeding,”

“Yeah one of my teeth - when the rock hit.”

“Schei- ok.” He wets the rag in his hand one more time, then pauses. Nott is eyeing it uneasily. He explains: “I have to clean this, it might hurt.”

“I know,” She says, put out by the idea she doesn’t know how to dress a wound.

“Would you prefer to-”

“No,” She shakes her head quickly and shuts her eyes. “just do it,”

He takes a steadying breath and puts a hand on her shoulder. Her face scrunches up as if she’s bracing for an impact, her ears pointing backwards. She flinches at the first cold touch. Caleb tries to ignore her reactions as he blots and squeezes water onto the broken skin, pinching the fabric between his fingers delicately. He’s not a healer, but it’s better than nothing. He puts the rag down on his lap a moment and lifts her chin, and gently, ever so gently wipes the blood from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. Her lips relax a bit.

She hears the gurgle of the waterskin, then there’s more cold stinging on her cheek. A drop of water trails down her jawline, down her neck.

Caleb pulls back. “Breathe, Nott,”

She puffs out the air she’s been holding. “Are you done?”

“Ja. Now help me wrap you up.”

“O-of course, but I can still disguise myself and you’ve been through the mill today, is there anything you want from town?”

“Is that safe, on your own? Didn’t they see you shouting at a bunch of children?”

His brow tightens. “I dropped the spell before that. And I’ll go south a little bit, come in that same way we did so it’s not obvious.”

Nott nods. “I mean - I won’t say no to drink if you can get it.”

“You were good today, not too-” he gestures “shaky,”

“I finished the flask this morning,”

“You want me to fill it up?”

She holds it out obligingly and he tucks it into his coat.

“Will you… be all right staying here on your own?”

“Yeah, course.” In other circumstances she might’ve been offended by that, but right now she’s just touched he thought to ask.

He studies her for a few seconds.

“I can leave Frumpkin if you like,”

“No, no it’s fine,” She insists, wanting to add _just don’t be too long._

He ruffles her hair and she bats his hand away.

“Stay quiet, ja?”

She watches him go, frowning.

Frumpkin stays after all. He lowers himself down to lie like a sphinx, eyeing Nott where she sits and taps her feet idly. She stares at the cat, and Frumpkin stares back, beginning to twitch his tail in irritation. Nott narrows her eyes. After a minute or so Frumpkin gets up, scratches his claws on the bark of the nearest tree, and darts up it to rest on a low branch, still looking at her. She feels scrutinised.

The forest is pretty here. It’s stayed bright all day, sunlight dappling the ground, and the trees that have grown close together make it decently sheltered from the wind. Birds are singing. She takes out all her things, restless, and sorts through before stowing them away again. She pokes at her teeth, fingers running over her lips. They move to her bandaged cheek. It’s tender, and definitely going to leave some sort of scar, but it’s not like she can get any worse in that department. She doesn’t want to look at the other bruises. The pain on her flank has waned to only a small area below the ribs: the kind of pain that’ll hurt slower and deeper the next day. One of the rocks that the kids threw caught her foot, too - she thinks one of her toes is broken, but no point troubling Caleb with that. She broke a toe before as a halfling. Happens all the time.

Her thoughts stray uncomfortably, feeling exposed. It’s a long time since she’s been alone.

By the time Caleb gets back, with two bottles of dark ale and one of whiskey, she’s cleared a space on the ground and built a small fire.

She’s glad when it lights. It isn’t late enough to bed down, but the sun’s disappeared so it must be getting dark for his eyes. Nott thinks she remembers Veth being scared of the dark. Maybe. She could have made that up. Methodically, Caleb takes his silver wire and threads it in a loose circle around their camp, with Frumpkin perched on his shoulder.

He slumps down and passes her back the flask, which is now comfortingly heavy. She clears her throat.

“Thank you, Mister Caleb. This is more than I deserve.”

He shakes his head. “Least I can do. Hey, cheers,” holds out his bottle.

She clinks it and they tip back their drinks. They accidentally make eye contact: Nott takes it as a challenge and chugs harder.

“ _Yaegh_ ,” He breaks away first, making a face. She gulps hers down like water. When she’s finally done, he’s holding back a laugh.

“What!?”

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

She goes to punch his shoulder but he dodges out of the way.

An hour and a questionable light spell later she’s wheezing with laughter, collapsed on the floor. Caleb doubles over snickering, and his cantrip flickers out as he loses concentration. Once Nott catches her breath she makes an exhausted wailing sound, setting them both off again. The whole thing wouldn’t be half as funny if they were sober, but neither can shake the hysterics.

Nott sits up and massages the uninjured side of her face against the ache of smiling. She yawns, the firelight glinting off her teeth.

Caleb gazes at her with unfocussed eyes. He can tell his head hurts too, but the alcohol is numbing it pleasantly. They sit in silence and Nott looks up at the trees. Clear night: good that they lit the fire early.

His mind is starting to wander when Nott suddenly says “They were right, you know. I mean, look at this. For all they know, I _was_ stealing from you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The kids who - they’re right to hurt a goblin when they see one. Goblins are terrible.”

He tuts once and looks her in the eye. “Nott the Brave, you listen here. Those arschlöcher don’t know a thing about you. You are kind, you’re smart, don’t,” he jabs a finger when she starts to shake her head. “no, Nott, you are so smart! I watched you master that crossbow quick as anything. Hey, I could teach you a spell or two, ja? You like magic,” He rubs his thumb against his forefinger absently.

“Me? I-I’m interested in _your_ magic I - I mean I know a few things about potions but it’s not really my area,”

He smiles at her, a small, eye-squinting smile. “I’ll teach you - tomorrow,” he pats one of the tomes in his holsters, then takes another swig. “You’re clever, you can pick anything up.”

“I suppose it could help,” she narrows her eyes, thinking. “help us do more tricks,”

“You know, that one just now… I was thinking we call it the, the glowing goblin, or…”

“Sounds like a tavern,”

“Mmm,” He wobbles his head in consideration. “I’d go to it,”

They look at each other.

“I wouldn’t,”

The fire spits as a log falls over, sending sparks dancing into the air. Moving a little closer to the flames, Caleb wraps his coat tighter around himself.

“You cold?”

“Ja, a bit. Are you not?”

Nott shakes her head. For a minute she looks at her hands and flirts with the idea of going to sit on his lap (and then, just maybe he’d cuddle her closer and pet her hair and-)

She can’t help glancing in his direction, any more than she can help noticing the pink glow on his cheeks and nose which is almost certainly from the alcohol.

She gives up. “You um, y-you should come over here, out of the wind.”

“Ja ok,” To her surprise he gets to his feet right away, his steps wobbly. Must be more tipsy than she thought. He sits next to her and she huddles to his side, wrapping an arm round his back as far as she can reach. He does the same. Easy. Routine.

“Better?”

“As’nice, ja.”

“Drink some more too, it’ll help.”

“Mm.” He takes a swig obediently. “Is that how you do it?” he adds dryly.

She looks down, not wanting him to see that she’s smiling like an idiot. They fall comfortably silent again as Frumpkin, laying with his paws tucked underneath him, begins to close his eyes and purr.

A few minutes later Nott blurts out “I’ve got it!”

“Jeez!” Caleb just about jumps out of his skin, almost toppling over.

“The goblight.”

It takes him a second to catch his breath before he gets it. “Ah. Now that’s good.”

“I’m pretty proud of it.”

He puts his arm back around her as she sighs in satisfaction. His mind drifts drowsily to goblins, and humans, and teeth. Something that had been bothering him. Something silly. His hand is flopped over one of her knees and unconsciously reaches to toy with the cap of her flask, brushing against her own hand.

“Nott. You didn’t lose a tooth earlier, did you?”

“No?”

“Oh. Gut.”

Caleb groans. There’s a ringing in his ears that seems to rise and fall alongside a pulsing headache.

Everything is death.

He opens his eyes just barely against the light. As he turns around to survey their camp, his stomach lags behind - he manages to stand and get about fifteen feet away before vomiting. His hands are on his knees, eyes clenched shut, and he has to catch himself on a tree when he loses his balance.

“Not one for holding your liquor, eh?” The goblin’s voice is reedy and sharp.

He spits. “No.” He wipes his mouth, fumbles to take a swig from his waterskin, spits again and slowly straightens up before pacing back to their sleeping spot. “You drank more than me, how’re you holding up?”

She shrugs, and he watches her tip back her flask. Still drunk. He swallows more bile. “How’s your face?”

“Green,”

That catches him off guard; he laughs once. “Well, how else?”

“S’fine,”

“You sure? It’s bled through,” He crouches down next to her with a sigh (she isn’t as bothered by the smell as she thought she’d be) and looks closely at the dressings. She doesn’t look him in the eye but turns her face obligingly. “You know, if we want to keep you hidden we should change the bandages, keep them fresh.”

“You’re right,”

Caleb straightens back up and watches the ground, wishing he wasn’t awake. It takes him longer than it should to see the dead rabbit at Nott’s feet. He blinks at it, and hopes the knowledge won’t reach his stomach.

“Did… you… catch that?”

“Shot it.” She points a finger and makes a ‘chi-chick’ sound with her tongue.

“Wow.”

She stretches out her shoulders, joints cracking. “So um, d’you have any more bandages?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for all the talk of people throwing rocks at nott, it must have happened sometime. I like to headcanon that she was proficient with a crossbow even before she became a goblin, but caleb isn't to know that.
> 
> thank you for the love! comments much appreciated.


	4. porcelain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come here,” He opens his arms, and she climbs into his lap as he pulls her into a tight hug. Her grip is firmer than his, surprisingly strong for someone so light. She sighs contently and he lets himself soften into her touch. Leans his cheek on the top of her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you better believe the last 3 chapters took place before nott found her mask, wahey!

Caleb helps her re-wrap the bandages more thoroughly, to cover her face, ears and even down her neck. It’s more intimate than she’s expecting as he sits cross-legged in front of her, his touches careful and offhand at the same time, and it stirs up all kinds of weird feelings that Nott wasn’t planning on dealing with this early in the morning. He’s being too gentle - she has to urge him to pull the wraps tighter, double them up, “ _make sure you can’t see any green_ ”

He does as she says, passing the roll of bandages around her neck a little tighter. “You sure?”

“Yep. Are we going to have enough?”

“I have plenty,”

His fingers brush against her collarbone, and he’s close enough that he hears - feels - her breath quicken. Caleb’s heart jumps in something like fear. Probably being so close to those teeth.

It’s not uncommon for their best finds to be hidden among garbage, but this time it’s almost by accident.

Nott is preoccupied. They’d passed a toy shop in town earlier, which set off thoughts of Luc and the kind of things she and Yeza would buy for him, if it were possible. She knows she’ll regret those thoughts deeply later.

Already avoiding the crownsguard they have to duck into an alley, which leads them onto another narrow, dead-seeming street behind the storefronts. Only a couple of doors open onto it, and it’s obviously where people leave their trash to be collected. The cobbles disappear into dirt, the walls mossy in places. There’s a pungent, almost floral scent in the air.

“What’s that smell?”

“Fox,” Caleb whispers in reply. Not for the first time, she marvels at the knowledge he seems to pull out of nowhere.

She leads the way to a pile of what looks like discarded fabrics, her eye catching something in its shadow.

Caleb follows slowly, keeping an eye out with Frumpkin facing backwards on his shoulders to look the other way. The street is very enclosed; a fine place to be cornered if anyone saw them acting suspicious.

It had taken more than a month after their meeting for him to feel safe abandoning his senses, looking through Frumpkin’s eyes in her company. Of course she’d noticed; he explained the bare minimum, only more thoroughly after she showed an interest. She can be impatient, excitably tapping him on the arm to pull him out of it and ask what the cat is seeing, then apologising. Having an extra set of eyes is extremely useful for their cons.

Nott ducks down close to investigate the fabric pile and pulls something out: it’s an oversized porcelain doll, torn up as if it’s been savaged by a dog. Heavy-lashed blue eyes stare out at her expressionlessly. The face is beautifully sculpted, painted with rosy cheeks and small lips. Like a human child. The remaining hair is made of fine wool, a smudgy strawberry blonde.

The clothes remind Nott of how her mother used to dress her - dress Veth. A creamy beige smock with lace and pink flowers embroidered on the collar and cuffs of the balloon sleeves. She thinks the sleeves are quite garish. The overskirt is brown, with two large buttons fastening the dungarees in place. The head, one remaining forearm and hand are the only ceramic parts: whats left of the rest is just cloth and some other heavy material to give it structure. It has little wooden clogs, dangling off the legs which have lost much of their stuffing.

It must have belonged to somebody very rich.

She looks again at the dress, aware that it is exactly her size, and for a moment lets her mind run with that thought pleasantly, before realising how hideous her skin would look against such fine fabric.

She rips off the wooden shoes, wondering why it was even thrown away. Surely someone could have repaired it? Any child would be happy to have this.

“What’s that?” Caleb says, hushed.

She shows him the clogs before stowing them into her pack. “From this doll thing, look.”

“Oh, good find.”

“It’s kind of messed up.” She continues, holding it up by a sleeve to show him the damage.

“Looks valuable though, you want to take this dress?”

She stops moving for a second, and feels her face warm. There’s a little flame of hope and even flattery, that he’d consider it, that he’d somehow known she was thinking about it - but that hope sputters out quickly and she curses herself: of course he didn’t mean for her to _wear_ , just to sell.

“Uh, yeah” is what she tries to say. It barely makes its way out as a whisper.

Nott removes the dress carefully, leaving the bare skeleton of the doll looking mildly horrifying. They search around for a bit - finding a couple of oddly twisted wires from a clothes peg - and move back onto the main street.

They get a room at an inn that night, the cheapest one with little space between the single bed and the wall. By the standards of the last few months, it’s a luxury. Also a luxury is the place’s hearty food, the smells and sounds from the kitchen making their stomachs gurgle. Caleb savours his meats, pacing himself. Nott scarfs hers down so ferociously he can’t help cracking a smile - they’re at the table furthest from the bar, her facing away from the rest of the tavern so he can watch her back.

He quietly clears his throat. “Careful Nott the Brave, you’ll make yourself ill,”

She pauses with her mouth full. “I’ve got a strong stomach,”

“I know _that_.” He smirks. “We should save some, though, keep it for tomorrow. I lived in the woods long enough to know, we need to make these things last,”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,”

“No no, you eat how you like,” He reaches over to muss up her hair. “I’ll keep mine for later.”

He gulps his water and spots somebody watching them - Caleb doesn’t make eye contact, pretending to read the writing above the bar again. “Red haired fellow is looking rather curious,” he mumbles.

She flashes her eyes at him - the amber seeming especially vibrant in the shadow of her hood.

“Should we head upstairs?”

“Uhm… you know perhaps I am, ah, being overly cautious. Maybe let’s just give it a minute.”

They wait. Reluctantly, Nott starts to wrap up her leftovers and takes a big swig from her flask. “He still watching?”

“Yes,”

“I’ll hide my face if you carry me,”

She finds herself admiring how little her companion cares about his looks. It’s different.

Maybe it’s a desire not to care about the way she’s seen, maybe she’s just starved for romance, but there’s a kind of wretched confidence and freedom in Caleb Widogast that’s enchanting.

“Did you notice how she was looking at you?” Nott asks once, when the stout woman who asked him for directions is out of earshot.

“Uh… I suppose a bit. I don’t know, it’s not as if I have any coin to give.”

“You’re good looking.” Nott offers.

He looks down at her in surprise, like she’s just said something obscene. “What?”

“You’re handsome.” She says defensively.

“Ah, th-thank you,”

All kinds of good and bad feelings there. He knows folks find him attractive, or, at least, used to. It’s one of the reasons he was picked out by- these days he relies on his general unkemptness to ward off that kind of attention.

A few hours after, it occurs to him he should probably return the compliment to his little friend, though gods know she’d never believe him. He decides to offer to brush her hair. No harm in that. She sits in front of him, willing but seeming uncharacteristically shy about the whole thing (perhaps, he thinks, this isn’t something that goblins do).

Her hair is certainly better kept than his, falling just past her shoulders, dark green locks that are thin and very smooth and not too greasy. It feels more pleasant under his hands than he’d care to admit. Their mindless talk is easy, soothing; a joke about stuck-up rich folks that makes them both snort with laughter. Small indulgences.

Caleb lights the oil lantern in their room and settles down to read. Nott is restless, though after that meal she knows she should want nothing more than to find a warm spot under the blankets and nap. The bedside drawer is empty, of course, and there’s no room to pace around. Her feet don’t touch the floor as she swings her legs off the side of the human-sized bed.

She half looks over several times before sheepishly saying. “Caleb,”

“Nott?”

“I’m… I’m going out,”

That gets his attention. He has a lot of questions all of a sudden, none of which are his business.

“On your own?”

“Yeah, if it’s ok, I, I have something I want to do,” She meets his eyes, sees his burning curiosity and looks away. “I promise it’s not dangerous or anything.”

“Ok,” He pauses. “you’ll avoid the crownsguard, keep your hood up?” _Not my business, not my business._

“Yes.”

Caleb nods, unsure of what to say. Something tells him this isn’t one of her solo stealing missions, to scratch the itch, as she calls it. She doesn’t usually warn him beforehand about those. There’s an odd tone in her voice he hasn’t heard before that almost makes his skin prickle. He swallows.

“Here,” she says and reaches deep into her pocket, pulling out a gold and a silver piece and putting it on the bed. “Don’t leave this room. I’ll be back.”

“All right,”

She flashes a familiar anxious smile, and she’s gone.

Caleb reaches over to lock the door. Then, with the key held out in front of him, he waits, a minute, a minute and a half, trying to reason with himself but getting nowhere, his mind all tangled and confused. It would be silly to lock it. If she comes back late she’ll need to let herself in. If she comes back early… he shouldn’t lock the door.

_Why not?_

He locks it.

There’s a little guilt, and there it is again - something nagging him not to trust her, that he’s a fool to let anyone so close, to sleep next to a goblin who could so easily kill him. Betray him. He twitches his face to shake the thought away. What would she say if she knew he was thinking about her like that? She’d get insecure, that’s what. Agree with him. He hates it when she gets like that. It’s like hearing his own self-destructive thoughts played back - but about her, _her_ , his dear companion with the quick hands and the bright eyes. He’s gotten so used to the green of her skin. She can move silently when she needs to but laughs with her whole body. Her eyes are intense and gentle, kind. And she’s warm. They’re warmer together.

A night that stands out among a hundred others: when he had a cold he thought too minor to mention, Nott had noticed the sickly flush on his skin and wrapped him in blankets and warmed her hands and feet by the fire before snuggling against him to make sure he didn’t freeze. Two days later they had to spend all their silver on medicine after she caught the same thing.

There was nothing ugly, nothing selfish about that. What’s he ever done to deserve the company of someone so good?

He’s been zoning out, staring at the wall, and only just realises he’s wrapped his arms around himself.

Nott is extra careful as she slips out of the inn door. Red haired fellow, Caleb said. She’ll be avoiding everyone anyway. The streets are mostly deserted, a light rain making the paving stones shine darkly. She walks until she gets to a building painted yellow, then turns south onto the next street that takes a sharp curve left.

Caleb picks up the gold piece that she left for him, its edges polished by her touch. That’s another oddity: Nott likes to give him things.

_What if she doesn’t come back?_

She hides for ten minutes from a young couple who’re walking aimlessly. She wishes they’d just decide on a direction and stick with it; they keep circling back to her hiding place, and she can’t find the right moment to creep past. It takes them way too long to leave.

Her pace as she moves through the shadows is slow, stealthy. Past the house with the old stone pillars, left again, then right.

The smell of fox greets her nose. She sees the animal rooting around by the junk pile, a little smaller than her and its fur greyish in the low light. She pulls out her crossbow just in case. “Go away,” she whispers in goblin. Only just noticing her approach, it starts and scarpers along the alleyway.

The doll is as she left it, if a bit more damp and gross.

She kneels by it and runs her fingers over the fragile face. Luc used to love dolls, as much as she and her husband could tell at that age. He was so smart. _Is_ so smart. She wipes her eyes angrily with the heel of her hand. No good thinking about it.

Instead, she puzzles over the doll to see how it might come apart. Scoring the ceramic with a knife would take too long.

Summoning up the emotions she keeps hidden, all the bitterness at what she had and can’t have, she takes it by the leg, steps back and swings the back of its head at the stone wall. She’s not strong, she actually misses the first time, and her frustration makes the second swing more forceful. The porcelain shatters: fragments clattering musically to the ground.

Immediately there’s a confusion of sounds inside the building next to her, and Nott ducks down to find the pieces she needs. The bottom half of the face was only broken into three - she can stick it together. A couple more, for collecting. One piece is sharp enough to draw blood on her finger, but in the brief high of her plan working, she doesn’t notice until she’s out of the alleyway and halfway back to the inn.

There’s a knock, and Caleb freezes. From behind the door he hears a loudly whispered “Mister Caleb?”

He gets up shakily, trying to ignore the pounding (and rush of relief) in his chest, and unlocks the door to let her in. Once she’s darted inside he locks it again before turning around.

“Look, look!” Nott says.

She jumps up onto the bed, with her hood down, holding the fractured mask in front of her face.

“Woa-” he jumps at the sight, and has to take a moment to steady himself with a hand over his heart.

“You went back?”

“Yeah, pretty right?”

He hopes she doesn’t notice his hesitation. “Sure. Hold it up again.” He squats in front of her so he’s just at her eye-level and considers, scratching his beard. “You could pass for a halfling girl like that.”

“You think so?”

“Ja,” he holds his hand out for it, and runs his fingers over the smooth porcelain: the paintwork is very delicate, though nowhere near her skintone.

“You don’t think it’s too creepy?”

“The _mask_ part is creepy,” he amends, passing it back. He gets up to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. “You are my friend. I just wasn’t expecting the mask.”

 _Ah_.

“Here look, I have a couple more pieces, I thought maybe you’d be able to mend it, or we could find some glue.”

She hands them to him, and he turns and examines them one by one. “This could be quite useful… and nobody saw you?”

“I don’t think so,”

“Well, good job friend,”

She grins, showing her teeth, and he can’t help smiling back. Seeing her safe makes him want to kiss her cheeks, to squeeze her tight and make her laugh. He catches himself leaning in her direction before looking down at his hands.

“I kind of thought you’d be asleep by the time I got back,”

“I was tense. It’s not that late.”

“But it’s so comfy here. Safer than being out in the mud,”

“I was worried about _you_ ,” he mumbles. It sounds far too vulnerable out loud. The significance is not lost on Nott, whose smile returns as she catches and holds his gaze.

“You don’t need to do that,”

“Come here,” He opens his arms, and she climbs into his lap as he pulls her into a tight hug. Her grip is firmer than his, surprisingly strong for someone so light. She sighs contently and he lets himself soften into her touch. Leans his cheek on the top of her head.

“I’m glad you’re safe, Nott.”

“‘M glad _you’re_ safe,” she mumbles, and he hums in response.

Her bitter mood is all gone, pushed aside by the comfort of being in his arms. She breathes him in with quiet triumph.

When they eventually bed down he strips to his underwear. Modesty isn’t much of an issue between them, and though he doesn’t look, the corner of his mind notes that she’s doing the same; it’s warmer in here than they’re accustomed to. Caleb puts out the lantern and has to feel his way into bed. He lies on his side, pulling the scratchy covers around him, and Nott crawls over to lean against his back. He can feel her bare spine poking him.

After a couple minutes, she turns the other way and her body presses softly against his, wrapping one arm around his torso. He listens to the wind outside, and her breath, unable to think clearly, his mind a jumble of inexpressible things. He even forgets to summon Frumpkin.


	5. ruin / blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank god the bars are there between them or he might try something very, very stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for animal death (temporary frumpkin death)
> 
> I've been enjoying writing this fic way too much and there are things that I wanted to explore more thoroughly. get ready for an *excessive* chapter 6 after this. also you can have a little caleb pov. as a treat.
> 
> nott has eaten frumpkin twice.

“But why a second time, though?”

“I don’t know, I was hungry!”

“And drunk-”

“And - yes. Probably super drunk.”

Caleb twitches his face, fiddling with some components in his pocket like he does sometimes. She doesn’t try and apologise again.

He’s a little more upset than last time, at least openly; they know each other better now, he’s less afraid to chide her and she should know better - she does. But his words don’t sting like they maybe should, because he isn’t hurt like last time. It’s not as much an emotional shock. What it means is spending all their money on incense. Again. And that means more sleeping rough.

They’d been doing so well.

Nott looks at her ugly feet as they walk. Feet that are monstrously, glaringly non-halfling. Her butt and leg muscles are aching from having to sprint through the woods last night, dodging badly-aimed arrows from a farmer, a reckless heist that left her empty handed and far hungrier than before. She remembers the frustration of getting back to their camp, the ginger cat perched on a stump watching her smugly. Thinking, it doesn’t even _need_ to eat.

Her human accomplice is deep asleep - for a moment she weighs the chances of waking him up. Frumpkin hisses and tries to dodge but she pins him just in time, sharp fangs sink in, and in that satisfying goblin way she’s overtaken for a moment by the instinct of hunger, before -

*poof*

gone.

She’d really prefer to be on Caleb’s shoulders right now, but the mood in the air isn’t right.

Without a word he crouches in front of her, adjusts the string that secures the mask behind her ears, and she waits patiently. He always gets nervy when they’re about to meet people, and if fussing over her is what helps, then that’s what she’ll let him do. His eyes flicker all around her face before meeting hers, and her heart jumps a little, and suddenly there are many more reasons to be glad of the mask.

In a year’s time Caleb will hear someone call the two of them ‘partners’, and it’ll fit into place like something he’s always known, something that makes sense like nothing else has since the day he broke.

That day on the road, the word won’t leave his mind. It’s one he’s only ever said to her offhand, not looking her in the eye, disguised among others while he’s pointing out the practicalities of working as a team: travelling partners: partners in crime. Nott agrees with just the same cadence, as if she’s eager to put a name to it, too.

But neither of them push to define what they have too rigidly. What would change if they did? They’re already partners. Of course they are.

He considers that as they pass the gates into town. He shouldn’t be dwelling on it while there’s so much work to do; right now even finding new books and scrolls seems like a long shot. Right now, he just wants his cat back.

“Excuse me, may I fill up my flask here?”

The barman gives him a look over. “Sure, let’s see… three silver’ll cover you for the house ale, whiskey’ll be eight.”

It’s a struggle not to cringe visibly at that. “Ah. House ale is ok,”

“Finch Heart it is.”

“Could I get a bottle to go, too?”

“Sure can, that’s another five silver.”

Perhaps overacting, Caleb takes a swig from the flask to finish the last drops before handing it over. The taste left in his mouth is an ungodly concoction of bitter alcohol, but there’s a musky, sickly sweet note too, like saffron. It catches him off guard, something familiar. Nott meets his eyes and he looks away in embarrassment.

He puts the coins on the bar one by one, wondering if he can get away with deliberately miscounting them. Once they’re out of the inn he passes the flask down, and after taking a drink Nott grows calmer, visibly; she slips her hand into his and he gives it an affirmative squeeze.

In a well-practiced way, they watch for people in town who might be wealthy or gullible enough to trick.

The first is a woman with a fine-looking satchel on her shoulder. The masked Nott pulls Caleb forward by a sleeve, and once she’s caught the woman’s attention she looks down, feigning shyness. Caleb approaches and speaks weakly: “Ah- Frau, I am sorry to bother you, my daughter and I are looking for a place to stay for the night, you don’t happen to know anywhere?”

“The Heart’s your best bet, The Finch Heart Inn, it’s just a few streets that way.”

His shoulders fall in relief. “Thank you, if - if it is not too much trouble would you be able to show us the way?”

“Sure,” She says.

As she begins to lead, Caleb bends down to the small figure beside him, patting her shoulder in what must look like a reassurance. He says under his breath “Rat food.”

“Got it.”

Summer has come on quickly, the harsh winds easing up as they travel south across the marrow valley. The nights are often too warm to sleep cuddled up anymore, though there’s always one point of contact. And now, that worry, that instinct against sleeping next to her isn’t the same as it was. Now it’s something guilty deep in Caleb’s stomach. The guilt is good, he tells himself. It’s safe. It means he doesn’t trust her.

That’s not it, though. That’s not it at all.

He _likes_ the way she curls herself inwards and her hands always like to be doing something, how he can tell when she’s dreaming. He likes how easy it is to speak to her. Her cleverness. The way that in her sleep, she’ll reach for whatever’s closest - a bundle of blanket, or Frumpkin, or Caleb’s leg - and pull it towards her.

She lies half-draped over him, her body angular, a solid weight. And it’s not quite guilt, it’s greed.

He notices her picking at her teeth, and wonders.

Later in the day, the air is growing muggy with heat - it pools in the narrow streets. They’ve collected almost half the gold that they need and now they’re in line for a food vendor. Lay low for the next hour; that’s what they agreed. There’ll be more opportunity when night falls, better hiding places, fewer witnesses.

And then Nott is at eye level with a belt positively sparkling with trinkets. The man’s coin pouch alone looks heavy and full. There’s a ring with two brass keys, a vial of some dark liqueur, a charm shaped like a dragon that her eyes follow as it swings. Testing her.

She can’t help overhearing the raucous conversation of the half elf it belongs to - his name is Darshan. Darshan somethingfancy. His shirt is made of blue silk and he’s already paid for his order. He’d have no reason to check for his coin. Just the purse…

Caleb wouldn’t approve. He’s right behind her, though, and hiding her from view.

She swipes the coin pouch in one quick movement, and in the same second the man pulls up his belt and feels the tug. He reaches back, whips around to face Caleb in a fury.

“You, you thief! Give me back my coin!”

Caleb holds up his hands and takes a step back. “I don’t - I don’t have it.”

Lightning fast, Nott ducks under a nearby table. The hessian is just loose enough to see through, images on the other side blurred round the edges. Her eyes dart to see if she’s been spotted, but every face is turned towards Caleb and the bellowing half-elf.

“Don’t try - I said give me back my coin purse, don’t try and trick me.” Darshan smacks one of Caleb’s hands down and Nott sees something small fall to the ground - a spell component.

Caleb’s denials only anger him further and people start to back away. Darshan reaches to pull open Caleb’s coat, grabs the edge just as he twists out of the way instinctively, which almost pulls them both over; Caleb yells, a billow of flame appearing in his hand for just a moment before he snuffs it out, leaving an arc of smoke and earning a shriek from those watching.

Darshan backs up, calling for the attention of the crownsguard. Caleb keeps his hands raised and shuts off, pressing his mouth into a hard line. Nott watches him search around the street discreetly; his eyes flicker to and from hers for a fraction of a second and her chest lurches.

Where she’s crouching, her ears are pricked forward and her hand is frozen on her crossbow. They’re hurting her Caleb, shoving him - but she’s hidden, there’s a dozen people watching and she can’t give her position away - and the guards are arresting him now, securing his hands behind his back. The man who smacked him, Darshan, is barking insults in his face, and she wants him to _rot_.

An official-looking member of the guard approaches Darshan to calm him, and at the end of their exchange all she catches is: “- never work alone. I’ll ask around.”

 _Shit. Fuck. Shit._ Nott retreats further into the shadows, pulls the mask down to take a few gulps of her weak ale, pulls it back up, and starts moving in the direction that Caleb was taken: darting and dodging under carts and behind animals and whatever objects are lying around to provide cover.

She catches one last glimpse as they drag him into the town hall.

After almost an hour of hiding, she realises it’s been too long to be a stern warning. The only option - which is objectively her fault, but deal with that later - is that they’ve put him in jail. So. Ok. Another swig. He doesn’t _have_ the coin purse, which means they’re holding him without evidence. They can’t prove he’s a thief; they’ll have to settle on aggravated assault or intoxication or public intimidation or whatever crap they come up with. They’ll be searching right now for the real culprit.

She has to keep invisible. Wait. Focus. She keeps watch as the guards and townsfolk come and go, counts how many enter the building, how many leave. Two men striding out of the hall are chatting, and she hears what she needs to: he’s in for a night. Twelve hours. She can do that.

She’s hungry. She misses home. Her feet hurt.

As night falls, there’s one guard in heavy armour, stationed at the front of the hall. She wishes she were drunker for this. All she can do is wait.

…it’s not enough.

Her lockpicking tools make easy work of the inside door, undoing it with the slightest click. It’s not truly a jail, just an annex of the building with one wide cell, nothing like the place they broke out of. The close-spaced bars reach from floor to ceiling.

She tiptoes, peeks around until she sees Caleb’s figure sitting awake in the dark. He doesn’t look up. He’s fiddling with a piece of cord, slowly unwrapping and wrapping it back around his fingers with his matted, auburn hair covering his face. One of his ankles is cuffed and chained to a hefty iron ring on the wall - otherwise, his breathing is steady and he looks unscathed. She breathes a silent sigh of relief.

She moves the mask down to hang by her neck. “Caleb?”

His head jolts up and he lets out a short breath.

The expression as he takes her in is about as far from anger as it can be: her black-clawed hand reaching to hold onto one of the bars, her ears flopped down apologetically, shocking yellow-amber eyes with huge pupils that practically glow in the inky dark. “Nott-” he breathes. The chain scrapes and clinks as he rushes over to her corner, sliding down. He continues no louder than a whisper. “How did you get in here?”

“I’m so sorry Caleb, I’m sorry, I got scared and just- I ran away and hid, I didn’t think, I-”

“Shhh, shhhhh,” he reaches a shaking hand as far as it’ll go through the bars, trying to cup her cheek. Instead, her fingers wrap around his and squeeze tightly and it’s just as much a relief. “Nott… Nott I thought you had left.” _Foolish, foolish, stupid, attached,_ he curses himself as the words leave his mouth. Wants to take them back. Too late.

“What? Of course not I’d never leave you in danger like that, listen, I’ve thought out a place I can meet you tomorrow, the road we came in on, on the side with the sign on the gate, remember? I’ll be under the trees there, no one will see me.”

“Ok.” He blinks. She knows how long he’s in for - was she tailing him the whole time? “But how did you get in?”

“There was a window, I-”

A close noise outside makes them both jump. She looks towards it and listens, intent, though whatever it is doesn’t come again. She’s dropped his hand. Slumped as he is, her face is just above his eye level, the dim light illuminating her profile.

 _Please stay._ He stops the words in his throat, and it aches.

“Oh, and the purse I got,” She turns back. “again, I’m sorry it was stupid, but I think it’s got enough gold for what you need!”

“Hush, keep your voice down,”

“I’m sorry,”

He sighs slightly. He’d be lying if he said the news didn’t soften him. “You know I am not angry with you, Nott,”

She looks doubtful. “Even a little bit?”

“…Maybe a little bit. But no, no - thanks to you we can get my cat back, and who cares about that guy, he’s just an asshole, a rich asshole. We need it more than him.”

“You see how ugly he was?”

“Ja,” he says, a smile on the corner of his mouth. “You’re just lucky you didn’t see him up close.”

“I bet he has like, the tiniest dick. Like can’t please his wife,“ Caleb laughs weakly. “I bet he goes home and she’s just extremely disappointed with all her choices.”

“Maybe why he is so quick to anger,”

“Right, he’s overcompensating.” She agrees.

They fall into silence. Silence is easy, unweighted.

She pushes her hands through the bars so she can hold both of his properly. She leans her forehead against the bars and he shuffles forward to mirror her, their faces close as they can be. Their breath mingles. Caleb watches her little thumbs trace over his knuckles.

The relief is still overwhelming. Thank god the bars are there between them or he might try something very, very stupid.

“There’s only the one guard outside, maybe… I mean, that thing has a lock, right?” Nott shifts her weight and nods at his ankle cuff. He shakes his head.

“It’s just one night.”

Her voice cracks as she agrees, quieter. “One night.”

With her darkvision she can just make out that he’s blushing. She knows the fear of sleeping alone, afraid, no other body to hold when you wake from a nightmare. She knows. She’s about to open her mouth to ask if he has Frumpkin with him, but holds her tongue just in time.

“Is there anywhere safe for you to sleep in town?” His voice is just a murmur.

She looks between his blue eyes before curling into a ball in place and settling against the wall. Caleb’s stomach pangs so sweetly it’s hard to bear.

And Nott knows in that moment she’d stay even if he didn’t ask. Even if there were a place nearby that was warm and safe to hide in until morning, she’d choose to hold this wizard’s hand in this wretched cell all night if it meant he could sleep even a little easier. Stroke his hair, tell him she’s not leaving. All the ways she wishes she could’ve comforted him when they met.

So she stays. Mumbling back and forth every other minute or so, their fingers hooked together.

And rests there, the iron bars between them.


	6. alchemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their bodies stay close out of necessity. It might not be a need for warmth, but it’s still a need. They’re both rather attached to the idea of need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for animal death, slight gore (canon typical), and pretty innocent drunk affection.
> 
> this chapter is twice as long as the others because I love this relationship and every one of you widobraves deserves the world.

For once, Caleb’s sleep is dreamless and black. The next morning it’s too warm under his coat, the sunlight pouring into the cell dragging him in and out of a gross, sweaty stupor. He wakes leaning awkwardly against the bars, two of his fingers still wrapped loosely around one of them. Nott is gone.

“All right, you’re free to go.”

The guard who helps him out of the ankle cuff isn’t one he encountered yesterday. He has a kind, weathered face and a curly beard. He chatters as he leads Caleb out to the front of the building, rather giving the impression of someone who might be happy in conversation with a stone wall.

“Between you and me I know you didn’t do anything, Darshan probably just put his pouch down somewhere. Too quick to point a finger, the old bugger.”

“Overcompensating, perhaps.”

He laughs heartily and smacks Caleb on the shoulder. “Zemnian humour, I like it. Too right that is. Can be persistent though, if I were you I’d get out of town right about now,”

“I will, thank you.” Caleb keeps his eyes down nervously as he exits onto the street.

The smell of pollen outside is heavy. Nott meets him where they agreed, and even before he can hug her she shoves the newly-acquired gold into his hands and insists he go buy his components.

“I overheard some talk in town. Do you know a place called Trostenwald?”

“Yes.” Nott says hesitantly, then frowns. “Is it… nearby? Are we that far?”

“Uh no, just a little further south. It is a bigger tradestop, lots of folks passing through, I thought since we haven’t travelled that way yet, it might be good for you and I.”

“Sure,”

There’s silence for a bit as they walk through the forest. From her perch high on his shoulders, Nott has to duck twigs and branches as they pass overhead.

“It is, uhm, a place we might be able to blend in a bit more, if we take fewer risks,” he says.

“No stealing?”

“Just a little more discreetly, perhaps. There are more reliable ways to earn coin.”

She perks up. “Maybe if we get enough money we could stay in one place for a bit longer, at an inn or something.”

“I would like that,”

Nott’s mood brightens at the thought of living a little more comfortably. Of course after their last incident, Caleb would be keen to lay low.

“Anyway I… I’d like to keep going south.”

“Of course. And there’ll be books to buy there?”

“I very much hope so.”

The next time Bren wakes it’s to the sound of somebody screaming. He can’t find his eyes to open them and he smells smoke. He manages to cry out and jerk upright, about to call for his mother, and Wulf and-

Nott flinches by his knee and makes a murring sound. “Cay?”

He can’t answer, dazed from sleep. As his eyes find the fire, the illusion fades, the screaming a trick of his mind; left in its place is a burning log whistling out the last of its air.

He sits there for a minute, his hand grasping at the cord around his neck, imagining he can feel the protective, warding magic it gives off. The smoke stings. The tears that run down his cheeks are the warm, heavy kind, of exhaustion and grief.

“Nightmare?” Nott asks softly. She’s sat up and her eyes are sticky with sleep.

He tries at speech but it won’t come. He gasps roughly, only then realising he’s been holding his breath.

“…Oh, Caleb, it’s ok,” she opens her arms, beckoning, and puts a hand on his cheek when he lies back down. Small pained noises escape him without meaning to, and parts of words, apologies, and some lucid part of him registers that she won’t understand them. “It’s ok,” she repeats over and over. “it’s not real, it’s ok.”

He tucks his face into her hair as he cries. He’s hyperventilating, breaths lurching and pitching, muffled between her neck and shoulder, and he won’t pull away because she doesn’t smell of smoke, she smells of _Nott_. She strokes his arm back and forth as he gets his breathing under control, and far from the first time, he wraps his coat round them both to bring her closer.

He tries to think about nothing. Nothing but their safe sleeping spot in the quiet woods, the warmth of her, the fire - no. Just the two of them. Just Nott.

In a year’s time he’ll admit it. How their family is small and confused, and bound together like braided iron, and there’s nothing that could pry him apart from it.

In a year’s time, she’ll admit something like that too.

Still, they plan in whispers. Nott gets drunk, stays drunk. They bicker and jape and skirt around every possible edge of flirting. He pats the side of her cheek. When they cross paths with a group of eccentric travellers, she hides up a tree with crossbow drawn.

“Would you like this flower?”

“Ah… why?”

“It’s for good luck.”

“I’m not sure I believe in luck.”

One evening, the wind drops. There’s no promise of the heat letting up, so they rest by a small lake that’s dark and clean as a mirror. Caleb’s mood is unusually cheerful, perhaps due to the sun, and without announcing it starts to lay down his things to go swimming.

“Be careful.”

“Oh live a little, Nott!” He teases.

He doesn’t strip nude, but leaves his books and most of his clothes on the bank where she sits a safe distance from the water, her arms wrapped around her legs. The ginger cat is there too, happily absorbing the last of the sun. Nott reaches to stroke him in her anxiety. Her heart is in her throat.

Caleb dives, not very elegantly, and she watches with a frown until he surfaces and shakes his hair out, wiping a hand down his face. He adjusts himself to float on his back, though Nott can’t fathom what enjoyment he’s getting out of it.

She eyes his clothes, for a moment honestly considering hiding them.

“It’s cool in here,” he calls after righting himself. “you sure?”

She gives him a thumbs up.

He must have gathered by now her dislike of water. Once or twice during their nights in inns, when there’s been a washtub in the corner, she’s scrubbed herself with a wrung-out sponge instead of getting in. She always gets quiet afterwards, comes to bed and hides her face in his side. It’s not something she can help.

She wonders if he thinks goblins can’t swim.

Caleb kicks his foot and it hits the water with a deep bubbling sound as he dives under again. Frumpkin’s tail twitches. When he swims further out, Nott refuses to watch. She lies instead on her front and takes out some buttons, putting the nicest ones on the grass in front of her. The earth tones are her favourites. She arranges those into a crescent line, enjoying the bright gleam of sun off their edges, regrouping them in different orders by their colour and then size, then scoops all but three into the same pocket for later along with a length of string.

She’s the first to notice thunder, distant and faint as a breath.

Once Caleb emerges from the lake she can relax a little, although here comes the extra tension of _oh dear she is very much still attracted to him_. Momentarily, she finds herself unable to look away from the lean muscles of his back, his chest bare apart from a pendant that dangles and glints as he wrings out his hair. His underwear is clinging to him transparently. She averts her eyes.

“Honestly it’s good in there.” He says, sitting next to her to dry off.

“I bet.”

“You don’t like water?”

It comes out as less of a question than he intended.

“It’s only - I just prefer not to - all the things that could be in there, you know like you can’t see the bottom, it’s all cold when you get in and out…” She trails off, scratching her ankle, avoiding his eyes.

He thinks, _she’s a horrible liar._ She’s running from something, keeping secrets, but then so is he. Isn’t that sort of the point? If he asks something too searching, she could so easily shoot a question back at him and right now, he’s not sure he could bear to lie.

The sun beats down strong as they sit there, Nott swinging her feet and crossing her ankles in the air, the insects and birds chirping lazily to admit the lateness of the day. Caleb leans back on his elbows. The whole time, the air is growing heavier, stiller, like it’s waiting. Frumpkin bristles.

“You two made up?” Caleb is eyeing Nott’s hand where it rests on the cat’s spine.

“Oh, you know.” She strokes a couple of times. “He doesn’t taste that great anyway.”

He huffs and reaches over to gently tweak her ear, making her blush and smile sheepishly. Her thoughts are still occupied with how his body looked when he came out of the water, and more precisely, how it made _her_ body feel. There’s a dissonance in that feeling, still - the two of them are so different, she doesn’t know exactly what she wants, what she’s aching for - but it’s rousing all the same.

The thunder rolls then, long and deep as if it’s coming from the ground itself. The rain falls gentle at first, just as Caleb finishes pulling on his clothes, single drops that create a steady pattering on the leaves. They retreat to the treeline as the sky darkens.

“So much for getting dry, eh?”

Nott shudders. Without a word they start moving into the forest.

Another closer rumble sets off a torrent of alarmed bird calls. Nott jumps to Caleb’s back. Then one that’s more like a great shattering right above them. And another, impossibly loud. Her parents used to joke about the gods moving furniture. Each noise makes her flinch, clinging tighter to the wizard’s shoulders.

And then within five minutes, it’s like the sky has caved in. With no wind to wash it any direction, the rain comes straight down, forming bigger drops under the trees. Caleb holds his coat above their heads. They make a haphazard lean-to tent with a canvas sheet, laying down sticks, blankets and rags to insulate against the damp earth. It’s already far too wet for a campfire, not that they’d need it in this heat. Nott stops her work early to shelter under the roof, and Caleb stares with his eyebrows raised.

“What?”

“And you’re done, are you?”

“Yep.”

“I don’t know if that’s fair at all.”

“I could have stolen your clothes earlier,” she points out smugly before taking a nip of her drink.

“And I owe you for that?”

She doesn’t answer, instead stretching out and putting her hands behind her head.

“One of these days you’ll get what’s coming to you,” He says with a sly look.

“I look forward to it,”

Every second of arguing is more time getting wet, so he hastens to finish the shelter and takes out his bottle of ale to join her. He gets drunker, quicker than she does, and the alcohol warms them both.

Before she knows it, she’s climbed into his lap. She ends up leaning on him, his arms snugly fastened around her and his chin on her shoulder. Eight months from now Caleb will call himself selfish for wanting her to stay, but tonight he couldn’t care less. Their bodies stay close out of necessity. It might not be a need for warmth, but it’s still a need. They’re both rather attached to the idea of need. Whether it’s in their nature or just the desperation of living rough for so long, they’re similar that way.

Intoxicated as he is, Caleb’s even clingier than usual, and Nott is far from complaining. She tucks her face greedily against his neck.

“Kleine liebchen,” he sighs, making the ear thats close to his mouth twitch. He leans back so he can see her, arms falling to her bony waist. “I wanted to tell you- you know you are always so down on yourself, but I think you are very brave,”

“You do, huh?” Her brows pull together as she smiles, amused.

“Mmmhm,”

“Well I mean, you’re not so bad yourself,”

He snorts. “I am as cowardly as they come.”

“All right, maybe that’s true,” she grins at him impishly, twisting a lock of his hair between her fingers. “but, I don’t know… you don’t need bravery when you’ve got your smarts and, I mean have you seen a mirror lately?”

“Don’t be silly,” he looks to the side, flustered.

“Hey, what was that you called me before?”

He squints in confusion. Watching his usually lightning-quick mind struggle in this state is hypnotising. “I… brave?”

“No no, before you said that. It was like klee-ber-shen or something-” she breaks off and snickers at his expression.

Close as they are, Caleb can’t resist taking her face in his hands and squeezing her cheeks. “Oh you have no idea how cute you are!”

“Ow,” She says through her laughter.

“You are so cute. No idea.” He lets up and kisses her on the nose, loudly. “Adorable little goblin.”

It surprises her enough to stop for a second and her stomach fills with butterflies.

“That was nice,”

“Yeah.” He breathes.

For an insane moment, Nott doesn’t care about the body she’s in - about anything, really. All that matters is the vulnerability of his expression, the way he’s holding her there, he _wants_ her there. And she yearns to let loose, let herself pull his face to hers and kiss him back, despite the teeth, despite his scratchy beard, just enjoy herself and make thoroughly sure he does, too.

Caleb shouldn’t. He’s sure of it even through the rosy tint of alcohol. Inches away, her whole being is razor sharp and deadly and enticing. There are so many reasons he shouldn’t.

It’s only a second. His pupils are blown out, looking between her eyes, and she thinks _he’s too drunk for this_.

She leans away a little, breaking the trance. “You remember how you promised to teach me magic sometime?”

“I did?”

“Mhm. Last time you got this drunk.”

“Oh. That was… that’s long overdue.”

“I’ve been wondering about it. Maybe when the books won’t get all wet, though.”

He shifts his legs. “Ja perhaps when our hangovers have worn off in a week.”

The tension is gone, mostly, and they’re two idiot friends again under a cramped little shelter that will definitely leak before the night is over. The thunder is quieter now, settled into a low continuous roar, and the rain keeps on drumming above them.

Nott thinks about that kiss for a very long time.

He follows through on his promise eventually, when they’re resting in the shade of a wide, low-branched tree.

“Hey kiddo, get over here.”

She looks up to see that he’s laid out the coat and wool tunic beside him, sitting with his spellbook open on the ground. He pats his lap, and she nestles in contentedly and turns to the book.

He begins teaching her the very basics, starting with somatic spell components. “Like this,” he says, putting his hands together in front of her to demonstrate the motion of moving them apart slowly, stretching the harp string.

“The one that helps you find magic items?”

“Ja,” he sounds taken aback. “how can you tell that?”

“I’ve seen you do it.”

“Good memory,” he mumbles, leaning forward to turn a page, then flicks back a few to show a series of symbols. Most of the writing is Zemnian. “so that is a divination spell, and part of the way to tell is it uses both arms starting in front of you,” he demonstrates again. “the size of the movement is what’s important and which way the palms face - some schools use other parts of the body, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but with illusion I move my feet in a certain way…”

Nott’s never heard him speak so much or so animatedly before. It’s technical to the extreme; he certainly doesn’t dumb it down. She nods along, asking for clarification when she needs. Admittedly, a lot goes over her head, but the most practical things she only needs to be told once.

“The one where you make yourself look different, what’s that called?”

“Disguise self.” He flips to a later page in his book. “This, the incantation is a little more complicated, takes longer to learn,”

“And it’s not real.”

“No, it is illusory.”

“Hmm.”

Once, she asks “Don’t some magicians have wands?” and that starts him on a spiel about spellcasting tradition among archmages and how _a focus can’t replace the more expensive components but oh let me look something up, actually_ -

She’s glad for the mental break, and gets off him to pick flowers while he does some reading. In the back of her mind, of course, is their money pot trick. It’s the most minor of transmutations: copper to silver, but even that is temporary. You can’t make gold out of nothing.

Nott can’t begin to imagine the components to restore her body into its original state. She feels terribly weighed down; it’s going to be tougher than she thought.

She lets her mind wander as she searches for the prettiest blooms. It takes her beyond the tree, where thistles and clovers and other wildflowers grow thickly in the sun.

In halfling society, flowers are constantly gifted between friends, strangers, lovers, and family alike, to affirm and spread good fortune. It’s a tradition taken rather seriously; Nott makes sure to always keep flower heads in her pockets no matter how dried out they get. She picks some more.

And she should be thinking of Yeza, the man she’s - Veth was married to. But right then, all she can think about is how easy it is to be in Caleb’s company and not speak.

She returns to the shade with a couple of fine stalks, spinning a daisy between her fingers.

“Cay-cay?”

He glances up, caught off guard by the playful name. Her voice turns shy as she holds it out to him. “Can I put this in your hair?”

He blinks at the flower, his face tightens and he says “I told you I don’t believe in luck.”

“It doesn’t have to be for luck.”

He looks reluctant. “Uh… you keep it,”

Her face falls.

It’s a human thing, the logical part of her argues - he can’t possibly know the significance, or the rarity of such a dismissal, why would he? The rest of her is already sinking from the shame of rejection.

Before she can dwell too long he beckons her back over to his lap. “Here’s one I never learnt but it might be up your street, look. You can send a, uh… you can whisper a message to someone and only they can hear you.”

“You don’t know it?”

“No.” He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear casually. “Maybe we learn it together though, ja?”

She folds the flower into a pocket and pours her full attention into the cantrip. The components seem straightforward enough, though the motion is quite intricate and as they don’t have any actual wire to use, they have to pretend. His larger fingers move over hers to guide them into different shapes.

He leans over to point something out and rests one hand on the back of her ribcage - she can’t help leaning into the touch. Without meaning to, she slips into a daydream about how he might kiss her neck, might wrap his arm around her stomach and _and and_. Her face burns. Later. Shove it away.

“So if you hold it between these two fingers and then with the other, imagine you’re twisting it like that…” He guides her hand. “And then bring the other hand around.”

She moves it in a slow loop around the first, concentrating on the angle of her wrist. His hands move down to her elbows and she has to mentally shake off her own passionate response. Might call her nice things - oh gods.

“And then it twists by itself?” She recounts.

“Yeah. That looks good,” he encourages.

After practicing for the whole afternoon, she feels oddly drained.

That night she starts to string together some more of her buttons, adding a couple which she keeps shiny and polished. She sews a thread through them with green, too-skinny hands, and muses over turning all the silver ones to gold.

-

_Ok,_ Caleb thinks, _this is it, I’m dead_. This happened before, months ago, but the animal was starving and alone. Now, utterly undeterred by displays of magic and not afraid in the slightest, four- no, five wolves are closing in with their eyes fixed and hungry. And he has no idea where Nott is. It happened too quickly. They’d woken early, she went to relieve herself, and the next time he looked up he was surrounded.

The closest wolf bares its teeth at him and he backs up. At just the same moment, a bolt sinks deep into its flank, sending it yelping and trying to snap at the unknown threat.

He wastes no relief as he shoots a fire bolt into the creature to his right, the flames fizzling out on contact with the dew-soaked grasses. The one beside it flees back. His next attack doesn’t hit but it’s enough of a distraction that the wolf recoils, and he has just enough time to send another mote of flame after it before he’s blinded by the force of an impact behind him: teeth breaking the skin of his shoulder. It knocks him to the ground, all air gone from his lungs, and the pressure and tearing pain is red down his arm and at the top of his back and a claw digs into his thigh.

A crossbow bolt shoots straight through the wolf’s skull. Unexpectedly, limply, it falls aside.

Barely conscious of his own movements, Caleb crawls away from the dead creature, breathing shallow, and gets to his feet. The whole meadow is swaying, the ground rolling up to catch him when he stumbles. His left arm hangs lamely by his side. His clothes are all wet. He tries to look around, and his vision bleeds white, and then there’s nothing at all.

“ ”

The things that come to the surface of his mind are fleeting. A promise. The grounds of a school in sunlight, the smiles of friends.

Amber lights and the weight of coins in his hands. The tone of somebody’s voice. A promise. Underwater. The day they met.

“ no no, ” 

“ ,” 

“ ”

A confession. The choking taste of ash. The click of a lock.

“ got you, just ”

Huge, golden eyes, pupils constricting into slits, half distorted and fraught with worry.

Cold fingers on the side of his jugular. He’s so tired. All he wants is to sleep.

“ hear me? You need to take this.”

Something on his mouth - hard and cold.

He has to swallow.

“Come on Caleb, you’re ok, you’re ok…”

The voice is shaking. He becomes aware of hair falling around his face. The smell - her smell. Small, sharp hands on his cheeks.

A drop of warm water.

Another.

-

He falls.

“CALEB-!”

She regrets the word as soon as it rips from her mouth. Her silence was all that was keeping her hidden. Instantly, the one wolf remaining starts towards her instead. Nott fumbles to reload her bow, tears blurring her vision as she shoots off a bolt, and the wolf is running at her and she knows it’s going to kill her. She’s going to die again.

She swings wildly with her shortsword, which makes the creature veer to the side on its heavy paws, hesitating, though it doesn’t seem any more afraid of her than it would be of a leveret. It dips its head almost curiously. She stands her ground, sword held out, her eyes only just higher than its own, her every instinct screaming to run.

It lurches and she stabs into its neck.

At first she doesn’t feel any pain, only sickness and the pressure of it pinning her to the ground with the last of its strength. She thinks her ear is torn.

The wolf is bleeding out rapidly, a thick-furred dead weight above her. She shoves it off. She’s more awake and more sober than she’s ever been. It’s only when she’s running that Nott feels the bruising from how it crushed her chest. That doesn’t matter. She reaches her friend, his form collapsed and unmoving in the tall grasses.

“No no no, not my Caleb, not my…”

There’s so much, too much blood, and it’s pooling darkly out from his shoulder. She needs bandages. If she can just bind it to cut off the circulation, bind as tight as she can and tighter- no time. His blood is soaking into the earth, staining her own wraps, her hands.

“Caleb, please stay awake Cay,” She begs, wedging a knee under his head to prop him up while she searches the inside of her cloak for a potion. “Please I’ve got you, just stay awake.”

A feeble groan escapes him. She has to fight the stutter in her voice. “Caleb honey can you hear me? You need to take this.”

As she uncorks the vial there’s the slightest rise in his chest, and a weak murmur, his mouth a sickly grey. She balances the edge on his lip and pours it in, pushes his jaw closed until he swallows. His eyes are drifting, far away, his lids heavy. She wipes the hair back from his clammy skin and lays her hand on his cheek, blinking away traitorous tears.

He coughs, and grunts unceremoniously before his eyes focus, squinting against the light.

“ _Caleb_ ,” She half wails as she cradles his head and hugs it tight against her chest, more tears flicking out of her eyes.

He’s speechless for a second. Nott can’t let him go.

“Nott…?”

“Ca- I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’m right here,”

The sky is a crisp, light blue. He’s dizzy. His hand comes up weakly to rest against her back.

She shifts to look at him then. Her Caleb. Hers.

“How… how did you…”

“I used a healing potion,” she sniffs “I didn’t know if it would work, are you ok? Your arm…”

He tries to lift himself up then and becomes aware that no, the potion didn’t fix him completely. She has to help him sit up, and once he has she carefully pulls back the layers of clothing on his shoulder until she can see the damage; the blood is sourceless, his wounds sealed over. It dawns on him, in a delayed sort of way, that she just saved his life. ****

“Thank you,” he says reverently. ****

She shakes her head. “I tried to kill it before it got to you, I’m sorry.”

“No, no-” Caleb tugs her into an embrace as she collapses against him, wrapping her arms around him under his coat. They stay there. Just clinging to each other.

“Are you ok?” He says, voice muffled.

“Yes.”

Gently, he takes Nott’s face between his hands and kisses her firm on the lips.

Nott makes the tiniest noise of surprise, her hand finding his jaw to hold him there. Once her eyes close they may as well be welded shut. She deepens the kiss, mouth shaping softly to his, and Caleb melts against her. He follows shakily, fingers twining into her hair. Through it all, there’s a slow, joyful detonation blossoming in the bottom of her stomach.

He gives her one last chaste kiss before breaking away only to hold their foreheads together, his chest rising and falling out of time with hers. Her cheeks are a deep shade of green.

Nott’s eyes are still closed as she laughs once, breathlessly. “You… you should’ve let me put that flower in your hair.”

“Ja,” he smiles, shutting his eyes. “yeah, I should.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments much appreciated! thank you so much for reading.


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